


You're Holy to Me

by Will_Write_4_Coffee



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom!Karen, F/M, Frank's into it, I know what y'all are here for I got you boos, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Sub!Frank, just a collection of Karen exploring her Dom! side, subtle build up, this isn't fifty shades so lets get that straight right now, y'all know the drill I hope, you know he would be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 06:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15989555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Will_Write_4_Coffee/pseuds/Will_Write_4_Coffee
Summary: If you think Karen wouldn't want to Dom the fuck outta Frank you're wrong. And if you think Frank wouldn't be into it you're super duper wrong.(This is the hill I die on.)





	You're Holy to Me

Frank came out of the bathroom to find her in a nightgown.

Not a frumpy, floor length thing suitable for a grandmother. No, she was in one of those lacy ones. The ones women wore, not for comfort, but to feel like the catalogue model they saw it on, looking dainty and domestic and sexy while sipping coffee or reading the paper.

It might not seem like much, but he knew Karen. Knew she preferred baggy sleep pants and one of his shirts, or a tank top and shorts in summer. She’d joked that he’d already seen the worst of her, so why try to ‘stay cute’ when it was just them.

She had no idea she floored him just the same in one of his ripped tees as she did in any of her fancy shit.

So, if she was wearing this… A black, sheer, high-hemmed nightie that contrasted with the long, lean expanse of her thighs, on a Thursday night…

Frank was in trouble.

Tossing the hand towel he’d been holding, wringing, onto the counter, he stepped closer. “You, uh… You wearin’ that for me or is it laundry day?”

Karen laughed softly. “I think you know the answer to that.”

He grunted a gentle affirmative. He knew.

Frank didn’t get nervous, especially not with her, but… the tugging in his gut was trying to fool him into believing he was skittish now.

“Got somethin’ planned, then?”

Turning to lean back on her hands against the counter, Karen eyed him.

Meanwhile, Frank was trying his best not to eye her chest, now alarmingly on display.

“Hope so,” she said, nibbling her bottom lip. “Otherwise my trip to the store might’ve been a waste…”

All he could do was wait.

A delicate rosewine blush creeped up her neck, and suddenly he was salivating like a dog.

Hungry. That’s all he was. Hungry for her, for anything hers, with her scent or color or curve—

“I know we haven’t exactly talked about it…”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering on her neck, and he found himself jealous of the blunt manicured nails that got to rest at her pulse point.

“But I can tell you’ve been… Uh, well…” Her blush deepened as she stammered. “Interested.”

He was interested in a lot of things. He was gonna need clarification.

“Karen?”

The words came out in a tumble. A rushed, embarrassed string of syllables that somehow still never lost their dignity.

Frank blinked. And then he grinned.

No wonder she’d dressed up for him. Asking to indulge an animalistic urge while looking like a doll… Hard to say no to that.

Not that he ever would. She’d pegged him right, just like always.

They ended up in her bedroom, lit only by the lamp on her nightstand.

She’d set the stage. Always the optimist.

Frank kissed her, walking her backwards until she bumped the edge of the mattress and lowered. He followed, chasing her lips, her tongue, the soft rise of her cheek against the tip of his nose. He was still standing though, and that didn’t feel right.

He’d given up kneeling for a god a long time ago. But her? Oh, for her he’d live on his knees. Crawl around like a monk on pilgrimage. He’d never ask to see the sky again if he could spend his life looking up at her.

He had a new deity, and she was made to be worshipped.

“Frank…” She breathed, and it set him on fire.

“Tell me,” he said, voice graveled.

He kissed a trail over her kneecap, up her thigh, stopping at the feather-light hem of her night gown.

He held her calves, refusing to move until given orders. “Tell me what to do, Karen.”

The sigh that escaped her made him shiver. He was on the right track.

Her legs fell open a fraction. “Make me feel good,” she said, hips curling subtly in invitation. “Open me up, Frank.”

 A rumbling noise worked up from the pit of his stomach, bumping along his ribs, only to be chewed on with his molars, diffused but not silent. He’d chosen the right goddess to please.

He took his time though. No one liked a hasty ritual.

Kissing and licking up the insides of both thighs, he nuzzled against the crease of her hip, face hidden by fabric.

“Can I… Please?” He wasn’t sure how much talking needed to be involved, but that seemed to suffice. For now.

Karen smiled down at him. “Just a taste.”

Stripping her matching panties down her ballerina legs, he moved closer, breathed her in. She was shining already, pink and slick and perfect. He kissed up her slit, praise in every graze of his lips.

_I’d kill for you._

_I’d die for you._

_I’d let you wield the knife._

_I know you never would._

Dipping his tongue in, unfurling her gently, he moaned like he’d just tasted ambrosia.

This was better.

But she’d given her orders and he knew his post. Just a taste. He had another mission.

She read his mind, inching closer to the edge of the bed until her ass was nearly hanging off. He’d catch her if she fell. He always did.

“You have the, uh…” His voice was as thick as the rest of him felt. Thick and heavy and slurring drunk on her skin, her smile, her hair.

Karen reached under her pillow, retrieving a modest sized bottle of lube.

He smiled sharp as a flint. They didn’t need it just yet. He still took it from her nimble, shaking fingers.

Settling in, he lifted one of her legs, planting her foot on his shoulder. No reason for her to hide anything now. No bashful attempts to pull away, no questioning noises or motions to turn out the light.

He remembered the first time he’d thought about this. The urge to claim, to take, to mark, to bury in so deep he’d never really fade. But this time… It was an act of servitude.

Frank would have made an excellent pagan. Ancient gods wanted more than chants in dark rooms. They wanted action. Agreements and bonds never broken. If you couldn’t spill your blood for them, at least make it sing. A thundering heart was just as valuable as a pierced one.

He kissed her folds once more before ducking down. One swipe of his tongue over her tight rim had her arching her back, gasping.

The pleasure of succumbing to a craving. He knew that sensation well.

Working his tongue into a point, he jabbed, lapped, jabbed again. Swirling as slowly as his limited motor function would allow. Karen was vibrating, thighs trembling, voice barely more than a keen.

She was a siren while he’d devolved, transformed into a beast from myth or legend or back before humans walked fully upright.

Hungry. That’s all he was.

Grunting and panting, he nosed at her, ate and slurped in ostentatious obscenity. He liked it. Wanted her neighbors to know exactly how good Karen Page was getting fucked that night.

With a wide, scalding hot palm he lifted her by the top of her ass, folding her back further with a lever of his shoulder. Karen gasped and only opened her thighs more, welcoming him in.

This was a temple he could live in.

He faintly registered growling as he slid his tongue in deeper and deeper, the bridge of his nose drenched in her wetness. He saw hints of it elsewhere… In the crease of her thigh, a droplet on his wrist. Like small miracles showing themselves to mortals.

When he was certain she was safely propped, he reached up and over her hip, tossing aside the fabric of her gown. The hem was wet too.

Finding her clit with his thumb, he circled, circled, circled, making her cry out. Her knees wobbled like she wanted to clamp them together, but she held strong, fisted the comforter and his hair.

“Oh Frank, oh God,” she gasped. “That’s it, that’s…”

Patting the flat plane of his tongue against her, Frank moaned and closed his eyes, praying it wasn’t a dream.

The nightmare would be waking up.

Her pinky nail caught his ear in a short, sharp scratch. The pain made him chuckle. It wasn’t a dream.

“C’mon, Frank,” she urged, suddenly impatient. That was a dangerous wave to ride, making a goddess wait for anything.

He knew he responded. He had to have. But whatever sounds he made were not a language meant for human ears.

She understood him though.

Keeping herself spread wide, she caught her breath as he uncapped the bottle, poured the lube over his fingers, kissed the pillow of flesh beneath her navel.

Steady as threading a needle, he pressed one digit inside, listening to every noise escaping her. Gasps made him push on, hisses brought him to a halt, moans sent him reeling.

“So good, so good to me Frank, aren’t you?” She mumbled, fingers dancing in his hair, on his temple. “You like it?”

The question was a knuckle to his spleen, twisting and punching a groan out of him he could only follow with a love bite to her inner thigh.

A dog so excited by his master’s affection he got nippy.

Karen giggled, canting her hips up. “Good boy.”

His cock jerked viciously, still trapped behind cotton and denim. Air whooshed out of his lungs as if he was trying to fill ship sails.

She took his second finger with ease, smile curling her lips while he circled his wrist, pumping slowly in and out. In and out. In and…

“Fuck,” she moaned. “More, more, Frank I need—”

He nodded, forehead bumping her knee as he stared down at where he was sliding and disappearing. He felt her clench, and he swore his heart tripped.

Being inside her might be a health hazard, but he was never afraid of dying.

With his free left hand, he unbuckled, unzipped, fisted himself at the base but didn’t stroke. He needed to last, would rather catch a bullet in the neck than fall short of what she needed. A generous pour of lube in his other hand and a quick swipe to slick up was all he’d allow. The rest belonged to her.

“Slow,” he grunted, apparently too far gone for things like conjunctions and verbs. He nodded his head once, hoping she caught his meaning.

Of course she did.

Thick, blunt head pressed against her rim, he took a steadying breath. Grit his teeth. Leaned forward.

“Yes,” she murmured, waves of blonde rippling over her floral bedspread.

To say he stretched her, filled her, was not only an understatement but almost an insult. In the traditional sense, yes. He fed himself into her centimeter by centimeter, careful, diligent.

But he would never classify this as taking, as him being the sole penetrating being in the room.

Karen had slid between his ribs like a KBAR. Sharp, swift, deadly.

To put it plainly, she fucked him too.

“Jesus, Frank,” she groaned, baring her teeth when he was finally seated inside her.

Sweat dripped down his neck, soaked the shirt he’d forgotten he still wore. He wished he’d had the forethought to strip, if only to give her even more flesh for an offering.

“Fuck me,” she ordered, gripping his bicep like a vice. “Now. Frank. Do it.”

Demanding and willful and so goddamn gorgeous he thought he’d go blind. He spied the tip of her canine tooth as she spoke, and he felt the ghost of it sinking into his shoulder. A scar he’d be proud of.

Next time, he promised himself, as he rocked his hips. More of a nudge at first, testing. Her legs wrapped around his waist like bands of hot steel. He smiled as she tugged the straps of her night gown off her shoulders, freeing her breasts.

“Karen…” He groaned, watching her pinch and tug at her nipples.

She hummed, looking up at him with half-shut eyes. “So damn good.”

He felt the curl and edge of each letter run down his back. _Good_. To her he was good. In this moment. In their lives. In the world.

Frank’s hips snapped forward and she cried out, wordlessly commanding for more.

She was drenched, soaking the lip of the mattress, where the comforter had bunched up beneath her. Frank’s favorite kind of holy water.

His left hand traced the curve of her waist, down to the swell of her hip, over the silk of her stomach. Down, down into the cleft he knew better than his own mind. Swiping his thumb over her clit, he braced for the shuddering, arching flourish.

“More, more, more.”

Music to his ears.

Tilting back, giving himself room, he worked his calloused fingers through her folds, growling at the sweet slip and slide of it. The strangled, desperate sound she made when he teased her entrance nearly had him coming. Inhaling through his nose, he refocused. Middle and ring finger pressed inside, searching, curling, and then—

“Oh, fuck, Frank,” she gasped, body becoming a concave slope, head popping off the bed.

“’S what you need, huh?” He was certain his voice was not his. He was a new man now. A new beast. “Yeah? ’S good.”

Her moans popped and sizzled, broke in two and spilled everywhere. She washed over him like a river.

Grinding his hips, pulling back, pushing in, crooking his fingers, he found the pattern. The golden ratio of getting her off.

“Faster, Frank, I won’t break.”

His teeth clacked together as he tried to reconcile that. She wasn’t porcelain. She wasn’t steel. She was something stronger. Something with give, flexible in ways weaker men would mistake for dainty or frail. But everything had a limit.

Maybe he was projecting.

“Kare, I…” He swallowed hard, barely able to fill his lungs. “I’m…”

She framed his jaw in the V between her thumb and index finger.

“I said faster, Frank.”

Divinity had needs too.

He whimpered softly as he yielded. He could never say no. Not to her. Never to her.

Karen’s hand trailed from his jaw to his throat and he tilted his chin up, offering it to her. Begging with one look for her to wrap those pale fingers around his windpipe and squeeze.

Sometimes prayers were answered.

She didn’t steal his oxygen. Only held him where pulse and breath met, reminding him of the power, the life in him and the possibility of losing it.

Staring up at him, she locked her blue-flame gaze on his.

_I decide._

It was written in cursive over the ridge of her brow, traced down the bridge of her nose, signed in the feral grin of her lips.

_I decide when. How. Where. This heart keeps beating until I say so._

He couldn’t help but agree.

There was something utterly calming about having a master. Having a force more prevailing than him navigating his actions, setting standards and rewarding him when he met them.

He was an easily trained dog of war.

Her moans were his leash.

Blunt nails dug into the side of his neck as she cried out.

The first flutter was surprisingly gentle, a soft appreciation for hard work.

And then he was pulled asunder, wave after wave sinking him further.

Karen screamed his name like a war cry.

The pulse in his throat echoed in his cock as he tripped, fell, cascaded into his release. His head dropped down, forehead to her sternum as he cursed, sound a mix of a grunt and a sob.

That’s what prayer should sound like, he thought. Visceral relief. A soul grazing the edge of heaven.

He hadn’t realized he was still fucking her with his fingers, still pressing his thumb to her clit, still rocking his hips while he could.

“Again,” he growled. “Get you there again.”

Karen started to shake her head, to whisper she didn’t need him to… But then her back was arching off the bed and she was gasping.

“Just… Just wanna see you… One more time, c’mon.”

“Oh… _Ohh_.”

Now he understood why nature was worshipped. Why the ocean was given a name and called ‘goddess’.

He saw the ocean in Karen Page that night.

And he became a religious devotee.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these scenes are from prompts given or suggested on tumblr, but most will be just from my filthy swamp dwelling mind ;)  
> Thank you for reading! As always, comments are welcomed, loved, adored, and appreciated for eternity.


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